


It Only Takes A Taste

by thelilacfield



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Chefs, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Romantic Comedy, Waiters & Waitresses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 10:27:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17078600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelilacfield/pseuds/thelilacfield
Summary: Cooking shows gained a new popularity when people started suddenly ranking Victor Shade among their hottest TV personalities, and there are rumours every week about some woman on his arm. Wanda was always just a little jealous of his girlfriend, but she hasn’t been photographed with him for a good few months. And now she’s become one of the lucky few to actually meet him. And she did it by spilling wine on herself. And on him.





	It Only Takes A Taste

**A/N:** I'm back! There is another little something coming before Christmas, and I hope everyone enjoys this AU :) Title from the song of the same name from  _Waitress_.

* * *

Hopping frantically on one foot to cram the other into her heel, Wanda rushes through the doors and clocks in with seconds to spare before she'll be officially considered late, and glares when she looks up to find Quill grinning at her. "Nice save," he says. "Your eyeliner isn't even."

"Bite me, Quill," she snaps, and pushes through another set of doors into the employee lounge, helplessly smiling when Mantis waves her over.

"We thought you weren't coming, Maximoff," Sam says, idly examining his nails and tucking his shirt tighter into his pants. "Entire place is abuzz. Apparently there's a celebrity coming through tonight. Don't go in the kitchen, chefs on the warpath everywhere."

"Why are you late?" Nebula asks in typically blunt fashion, arching an eyebrow. "And why haven't you tied your hair up?"

"Technically I'm not late," Wanda says breathlessly, tugging an ancient elastic from her wrist and twisting her hair up into the neat bun required of all waitresses. "Bad night."

"What happened?" Mantis asks, wide-eyed and sympathetic as always.

"Break-up," Wanda says shortly, and flips open her compact, wincing at how clearly uneven her eyeliner is but choosing instead to apply a brighter red than usual to her lips, hoping it'll distract customers.

"Let me guess, douchebag of the month finally showed his true colours?" Sam asks, and Wanda glares at him. "And you then stayed up far too late watching the Food Network?"

"With that English guy," Nebula adds, narrowing her eyes at Wanda. "I don't know if it's cute or embarrassing that you're like a blushing schoolgirl over a TV chef."

"Your girlfriend thinks he's cute, Nebula," Wanda says defiantly, and Mantis blushes. "Don't pretend you don't have celebrity crushes."

"Mine aren't chefs on the Food Network," Nebula says, eyebrow arched high.

"He does have the most calming voice," Sam muses. "And he's very attractive. And if he's that good with his hands cooking just  _imagine_  what he could do to you."

" _Sam_!" Mantis shrieks, and Wanda rearranges her expression to be suitably scandalised by her inappropriate friend, pretending that she hasn't imagined that. On many occasions.

The door to the manager's office swings open, and Maria is glaring around at all of them, fire in her eyes. "Stark doesn't pay me to pay you lot to sit around!" she shouts, inciting a flurry of activity through the room. "And if any of you so much as think about trying to stay back here, just know Mr. Stark himself will be coming through tonight with his fiancée and a group of friends. You don't want to disappoint him."

There's no more time to talk to her friends, though Wanda can see worry in Mantis' eyes and knows there will be an invitation to have coffee and talk coming at the end of their shift. She distracts herself with work, charming tables, flirting in the hopes of bigger tips, determined that tonight will be the night she makes it to the end of her shift without having to stop and step out of her heels to calm her aching feet. The night marches on, tables fill and empty and have to be cleared away, the candles burn lower and lower, and she catches herself humming along to the familiar jazz playing low over the hidden speakers.

"Maria always tells me happy people work in my restaurant," comes a voice she recognises from TV, and she turns to face Tony Stark. Owner of Stark Industries, creator of sustainable clean energy, owner of the restaurant she's standing in, and he's dressed impeccably, daring red suit with a gold tie, and if she looks just a little to his right it's Pepper Potts clutching his arm, red hair curling around bare freckled shoulders, that enormous diamond she's seen splashed across every celebrity gossip page gleaming on her finger.

"Mr. Stark, Ms. Potts, good evening," she says brightly, praying that her hair hasn't dropped in the humidity of the kitchen and her cheap setting spray is holding up against rushing back and forth. "May I show you to your table?"

"We're so sorry the whole party isn't here yet, traffic is terrible," Tony says, and she's leading them to a private table in the back of the room, every head turning and jaws dropping, people whispering to each other at having a billionaire and his stunningly beautiful fiancée in their midst. "You clearly know us, but it seems pretty bad to technically be your employer and not know your name."

"Oh, of course, Mr. Stark," she says, and tries to give him her most charming smile. "I'm Wanda. Wanda Maximoff. I've been working here almost two years."

"Impressive," Pepper remarks, and Wanda watches in amazement at Tony pulling out her chair, dropping a soft kiss on her shoulder, the lovestruck way their hands tangle. "Why so long?"

"Working through my degree, Ms. Potts," she says, and Tony smiles.

"We at Stark Industries truly value education," he says solemnly, and Pepper rolls her eyes. "What's your degree, Maximoff?"

"I'm majoring in psychology, Mr. Stark," she says, and wonders if he actually looks impressed. "Can I get you anything while you wait for the rest of your party?"

"Start us off with some water," Pepper says with the same soft smile often called magnetic in the media, and Wanda manages a silent nod before she ducks back into the employee lounge, heart pounding.

Mantis is waiting, eyes wide, and grabs Wanda's hands in excitement, frantically whispering, "You spoke to  _Tony Stark_ ," speaking his name with more reverence that most people speak of anyone. "What's he  _like_?"

"From where I'm sitting he's pretty damn good-looking," Sam comments, casually leaning against the wall like there isn't work to be done. "As is his lovely fiancée. I always said, if there's one famous person I could sleep with, I'd have a hard time choosing between Tony Stark and Pepper Potts."

"Gross, Wilson," Nebula says, wrinkling her nose. "He's our  _boss_."

"No, he's our boss' boss, which makes it all completely legit and legal and not a power imbalance at all," Sam says sweetly. "And since our boss is the biggest lesbian this side of you, Nebs, it's all totally cool."

"Don't call me Nebs," Nebula snaps, and shoves the door open to go and offer one of the other tables another glass of wine while they run up their bills staring at Tony Stark.

"Oh, she's pretty too!" Mantis whispers in awe, and Wanda turns to watch Tony stand, grinning ear to ear at three new arrivals. She recognises James Rhodes, the air force legend turned Tony's personal bodyguard since an assassination attempt a few years ago, and his wife Carol Danvers, remembering the reports of their whirlwind courtship after being assigned to the same unit. Privately, watching them together, she curls her lip over all the tabloids that said their marriage, a mere three months after they met, would never last. Because from where she's standing, she sees James smiling tenderly at his beautiful blonde wife, and when Carol carefully takes off her coat her dress clings for a moment to what just might be the beginnings of a bump.

"That's Bruce Banner!" comes another voice, a whisper of wonder, and Peter, the youngest waiter in the kitchen, wriggles between Wanda and Mantis, peering through the door at the glamorous table. "I learned about him in class last month! He's a scientist, he'll be in the history books one day, making huge strides in radiation research."

"He's cute," Sam comments easily, and Wanda tilts her head in consideration of the man. Grey growing into his dark curls, lovely eyes behind his glasses, and tweed elbow patches on his worn blazer. "They all are."

"They've still got another seat," Peter observes. "I wonder who else they could possibly bring with them."

"Hope it's a hottie," Sam says, and strides back into the restaurant to clear a table that's leaving. It falls to Wanda to scramble to find five glasses of water and the wine list, balancing them all carefully on a tray and pushing the door open with her foot.

"Maximoff, these are our married couple friends Rhodey and Carol, and my charming business associate Bruce," Tony says when she reaches the table, all effusive charm. "This is our lovely waitress for the evening. Aren't there nice people working at my restaurant?"

"You know fine well Maria is terrifying, Stark," James says, grinning, and Tony shrugs. "Sorry about him, Wanda, he thinks he can charm the birds off the trees."

"You wanna make that a bet, Rhodes?" Tony teases back, and Wanda just looks back and forth in amazement at seeing such celebrities act just like her and her friends. "Oh, no need for the wine list, Maximoff. We'll take a round of merlot to start the night."

"Only four," Carol says, and she moves a hand to her stomach, and Wanda pretends frantically to not notice something that will no doubt be splashed across the tabloids in a few weeks. "Just another water for me."

Wanda darts back into the kitchen as quickly as she can, so intimidated by these people. All effortlessly glamorous, as if they own the place - which, she supposes, Tony does. Such expensive suits for the men, silk dresses for the women, not a hair out of place among the five of them, and she wonders who the sixth will be. There aren't any other names she's known to be associated with Stark, but there must be another friend.

"Maximoff!" She starts at Maria's shout, and finds her manager looking out of her office with narrowed eyes. "You better not keep Mr. Stark waiting."

"Of course," Wanda says quickly, and grabs a bottle from the wine rack, carefully filling four glasses and adding another water, placing a lemon on the side of the glass to try and make it look a little classier. Nothing but the best for the restaurant owner's friend's wife. Heaving the tray into her hands, she quickly crosses the lounge and backs into the door to open it.

She can't help a harsh squeal when she crashes into someone and every glass of wine tips all over her, soaking her neat red shirt straight through and seeping into her black skirt. Automatically frantically apologising, blinking flecks out of her eyes and defeatedly realising her make-up will now be irreperably smudged, it takes her a moment to realise there's another voice saying, "I'm so sorry, ma'am, I really am, I didn't see you, I should've been looking where I was going, I'll pay for any damage, let me help you."

"My fault," she says, and lowers the tray in defeat, looking at the floor to assess the damage and biting back a Sokovian curse seeing broken glass layered over the floor. "You better take a seat, sir, I don't want you cutting yourself."

"Let me at least help a little," he insists, voice smooth and soothing, and she looks up into blue eyes she's only ever seen looking out of her grainy TV screen, and the last fragment of her composure leaves her. Because Victor  _fucking_  Shade is looking down at her, the same TV personality better known as Vision that she's watched almost every day since she discovered his show three years ago, and she's wearing her wine-stained work uniform with her make-up everywhere. And he looks literally delicious, in a traditional black suit and a bow-tie of all things, and she looks like a mess who was late to work because she fell asleep in a bottle of wine after her boyfriend dumped her via phone call for being too unavailable.

"You're late, Shade!" Tony bellows across the restaurant, and she can see a flush stealing into Vision's cheeks, and Jesus  _Christ_  she can't stop staring at him, the way his hair is swept up from his forehead and the bashful fall of his eyelashes and his  _lips_ , she's embarrassing herself crouched on the carpet over a pile of broken glass and wine stains mottling the carpet. "Get your ass over here, we've got catching up to do!"

Before anyone else can speak, Wanda dodges back into the kitchen, breath coming in ragged gasps, grimacing as she peels her soaked shirt away from her skin. "Sam!" she shouts, and he appears from the employee bathroom, still rubbing lotion into his hands. "I dropped an entire tray of glasses. Could you take care of it?"

"You alright, Wanda?" he asks, sudden concern in his face. "You look flustered as all hell."

"Victor Shade is fucking friends with Tony fucking Stark and I just walked into him and spilled wine all over myself and looked like an idiot in front of an actual fucking celebrity," Wanda spits, and Sam's eyes go wide. "So would you  _please_  go clean up my mess so I can change and try to figure out where I dropped my dignity?"

"Don't worry, Maximoff, I can be your hero," Sam says, grinning at her, but he pats her shoulder comfortingly as he brushes past her to collect the mop and the dustpan and brush.

Going to her locker for a change of clothes, Wanda grits her teeth in frustration at a familiar wolf-whistle behind her when she unbuttons her shirt, peeling the sodden material away from her skin and glaring at the red on her skin. "Looking good, Maximoff!" Quill calls.

"Fuck off, Quill!" she shouts back, wiping the wine off herself as best she can, resigned to it being so soaked into her bra she'll smell like a fancy red for the rest of the evening.

"Do you kiss your Victor Shade posters with that mouth?" he calls back in a falsely scandalised voice, and she rolls her eyes, buttoning her replacement shirt and tugging up the zip of a fresh skirt, smoothing it carefully over her thighs. It's a little shorter than what she was wearing before, but it'll just have to do and she'll endure the lecture from Maria about dress codes another time.

Repairing her make-up as best she can, she smooths her hair and sprays another spritz of perfume in an attempt to cover up the cloying smell of wine, and is out of her locker in time to watch Sam return from the dining room, smiling. "Charming bunch, aren't they," he says cheerfully. "I think Stark has taken a shine to you, Maximoff."

"Please just kill me now," she groans, burying her head in her hands. "Victor Shade walks into the restaurant and the first thing I do is spill wine all down myself."

"Well I didn't want to comment while you were wigging out, but your shirt was clinging to you  _very_  nicely while it was wet," Sam comments, and she just glares at him. "Oh c'mon, Wanda, it's a compliment. I'm sure any man wouldn't mind."

"I'm sure he's not like  _that_ ," she says snippily.

"And you know all about him from watching his show and reading all his interviews?" Sam asks, eyebrow raised, and she just folds her arms. "You better get back out there and introduce yourself properly. Especially now you're wearing a shorter skirt."

"Oh fuck  _off_ , Sam," she snaps, and he just brushes past her, grinning infuriatingly. Giving her skirt a last tug, belatedly remembering this is the skirt Natasha said was the one to wear on the prowl for a one night stand, she tries to hold her head high and pretend she isn't that waitress that spilled wine on a popular and incredibly good-looking TV personality.

Luckily, her attending the table goes off without a hitch for the rest of the evening. She brings them their food with steady hands, deliberately not letting her gaze linger on Vision in case she finds a mysterious bump in the carpet to trip over, and Tony makes breezy jokes that she hopes means she won't be disciplined for her mistake. When they're finally finished with their after-dinner coffee and whiskey, almost closing time, he takes an entire wad of bills from his blazer pocket and presses them into Wanda's hand. "For taking such good care of us, Maximoff," he says with a grin, before she can even begin to process the weight of the bills in her hand. "I'll be sure to only come back on nights you're working."

"I'll get Happy to bring the car around," Pepper says, and Wanda notices for the first time that her and Tony are the same height as she drops a kiss on his cheek and files out, quickly followed by the other occupants of the table. With all obstacles overcome, she can let herself look at Vision again, catching her breath at how the cut of his suit emphasises his shoulders, his eyes so very blue in person, and she desperately tries not to read too much into the soft smile he gives her.

"Alright, kid, here's his card," Tony says, making her start out of her daydream, and he presses a small rectangle of card into her hand. "You might get his assistant, but Darcy just pretends to be a bitch, really it's easy to get on her good side and she'll put you through."

"What?" Wanda says, all she  _can_  say, dumbfounded, and Tony just grins at her.

"Contrary to how charming he can be on TV, the guy is painfully shy, especially around pretty girls," he says, and Wanda can feel a blush creeping into her cheeks. It's hard to not be at least a little proud that a billionaire is implying she's pretty. "And while I've seen a lot of women look at him all moony-eyed, I've never seen him look back."

Taking the card, she retreats to the employee lounge, blushing fiercely. And she turns it over and over in her pocket as she walks home, and up sixteen flights of stairs on exhausted feet because the elevator is still broken, and into the apartment to find that Natasha and Jane are both sitting up, a bowl of popcorn between them. "We thought you might need cheering up after your shift," Natasha says, and pats the couch next to her. "C'mon, sit for a while. You were too good for him anyway."

"I think I just wanna go to bed," she says apologetically, and waves away their offers to talk. Just so she can lie awake in bed, with Victor Shade's business card in her hand and her memory filled with the blue of his eyes.

* * *

"You can hardly tell you spilled wine all over yourself last week," Sam says, tone soothing but a gleam in his eyes that only makes Wanda roll her eyes, rolling out the knots in her neck as she sets another tray of empty glasses down by the dishwasher. "Oh come on, are you not over it yet?"

"Over embarrassing myself in front of someone I actually admire?" she asks, smoothing her skirt down again. "No, I'm not over it. I'm never  _going_  to be over it."

"You're such a drama queen," Sam says, and sweeps out into the seating area to charm another table, while Wanda hangs back, taking a moment to lean against a wall and just breathe.

While the wine stains luckily came out of her shirt and skirt without too much performance, and no need for a trip to the dry cleaners, she's still been sitting up at night kicking herself for making a mistake in front of Victor Shade. She can still perfectly remember the night she was alone in the apartment, miserable and lonely and flicking through the channels looking for something, and happened to find his show. And found herself up most of the night watching every episode from the beginning, watching this man get more comfortable on camera, and writing down the recipes she found interesting. Pulling herself out of a rut of instant meals or nothing to start cooking again, taking pleasure in it, making the apartment into a space that wasn't just heavy with grief.

That show gave her a new lease on life, and her crush on its host was just that - a silly celebrity crush. Cooking shows gained a new popularity when people started suddenly ranking Victor Shade among their hottest TV personalities, and there are rumours every week about some woman on his arm. She was always just a little jealous of his girlfriend, but she hasn't been photographed with him for a good few months. And now she's become one of the lucky few to actually meet him, and she did it by spilling wine on herself and a little on him.

But then again, she's the one with his card sitting on her nightstand, next to the trinket tray Natasha bought her after being horrified at the rings scattered all over her floor. She hasn't called that number yet, still embarrassed over Tony apparently noticing that she was looking adoringly at Vision. Yet she can't help but remember that Tony as much as confirmed that Vision was looking at her too.

"Maximoff, someone's asking for you out there!" Quill calls as he brushes back into the room, balancing far too many trays on his arms. "Must be one of your regulars."

Smoothing her hair and checking that her shirt hasn't sneakily popped a button open, she walks out into the dining area and nearly goes into a complete reverse when she sees Victor Shade himself sitting at a table alone, a box on the table in front of him, clothed in a deep red sweater that draws her attention to his shoulders, his chest, and she's actively trying not to get flushed, tugging on her hair to try and make it look presentable before she approaches him. "How can I help you today, sir?" she asks, trying to avoid eye contact and not get so flustered she falls over herself.

"I wanted to come by to apologise, Ms. Maximoff," he says, and she looks up at him helplessly, her heart thundering looking at the sharp line of his jaw, the slightest shadow of stubble, his eyes so extraordinarily blue. "And to reimburse you for anything you had to pay for the stains and your clothes."

"Oh, no, it's alright, I managed to get the stains out," she says, self-consciously tugging at her skirt. "You don't have to apologise for anything. It was completely my fault that I walked into you."

"No, no, I should've been looking where I was going rather than concentrating on my friends," he says frantically. He nudges the box towards her, looking so like a kicked puppy that she can't help wanting to reassure him further, and says, "I made these as a gesture of goodwill. Salted caramel macarons. Unless you don't like them, I can take them back!"

"No, no, they sound delicious," she says in an attempt to soothe him, pulling the box towards her. "But it's really not necessary. I made a mistake, you don't have to apologise for it."

"I'm afraid I still feel guilty, Ms. Maximoff," he says, and she tries not to let any of the inward thrill that he knows her name show on her face. "If...if you would let me, I-I would like to make it up to you further. Maybe...perhaps you would agree to a-accompany me out...tonight? For...dinner? O-only if you want to, of course."

Though her head is spinning, and everything in her is screaming in delight, she manages to collect some scrap of composure and sense together and say, "My shift doesn't end until eleven."

"Oh...that's alright," he says, and she can see a flush creeping into his face. "I will just leave, I only came to apologise. I am deeply sorry for overstepping."

"But this is New York!" she says, a little too loudly, before he can stand and leave. "Restaurants stay open later than that. So, maybe, if you want to wait, we could go when my shift is over?"

And then he smiles, and the whole world lights up, and she almost feels a little weak in the knees as the realisation of just how big of a crush she has on this man crashes over her. "I'd like that very much, Ms. Maximoff," he says, beaming.

"Wanda," she corrects, and he smiles even wider, eyes shining. "Please just call me Wanda."

"Lovely to meet you properly, Wanda," he says, and takes her hand to shake it gently, and she prays that her skin isn't clammy with nervous sweat, that he won't notice that her nail polish is chipped. "I'm Vision."

"I know," she says, and his cheeks brighten with a blush, and she walks away before she can get any more flustered. Finds Sam and Mantis waiting wide-eyed and eager in the employee lounge, Nebula pretending to be uninterested a few feet away.

"So?!" Sam asks, leaning casually against the wall and giving her a grin. "What happened out there with the handsome celebrity chef who appears to have brought you food?"

"Victor Shade just asked me out."

Sam slides a good few inches down the wall before he corrects himself, wide-eyed in amazement, and breathes, "No  _fucking_  way."

"Oh my gosh, Wanda, that's so  _exciting_!" Mantis squeals. "Where are you going? What are you going to wear? Is he as handsome in person as he is on TV?"

"Hey!"

"He's handsome, but he couldn't hold a candle to you, Nebs," Mantis corrects herself, leaning over to kiss her girlfriend's cheek, and Nebula hastily tries to rearrange her softening expression. Because no one can know that she actually has a heart even though she looks at Mantis in a besotted way every ten seconds. "Where are you going for your date, Wanda?"

"I...don't know," she says, glancing down at her fingernails, the glossy black polish chipped beyond recognition. "Oh God, it was dumb to say yes, wasn't it? I don't have anything to change into, I don't have a hairbrush, I barely have enough powder to touch up, I-"

"You can borrow mine," Nebula says suddenly, in an uncharacteristic display of warmth and generosity. The kind usually only reserved for Mantis.

"And I have a dress in my locker, it might be a bit creased but it should fit you!" Mantis chirps. "You're so pretty, you could go out like that and still knock his socks off!"

"And I've got a hairbrush, don't ask why," Sam says, and gives her a grin. "You shall go to the ball, Cinderella."

"Damn, I left my glass slippers at home," Nebula deadpans, and Wanda can finally relax a little. Laugh. Get back to serving tables before Maria sniffs out that she isn't doing her job and comes blasting into the room to give them the usual disappointed arch of an eyebrow.

When the shift is over and they've managed to get rid of the last straggler taking an age to finish very slowly unwrapping their after-dinner mints while Nebula invents increasingly disturbing ways to torture them under her breath, Wanda is swept into the staffroom and her friends do their very best impression of some sort of deranged, three-headed fairy godmother. She giggles when Sam murmurs, "Holy  _shit_ , how many pins do you  _have_  in this thing?" as he painstakingly unravels her hair from its tight bun, and gives an exaggerated cough when Nebula shoves her powder brush almost directly into her mouth.

Mantis' dress is nothing like she would normally wear on a date. Green, for one thing, and the skirt skims just above Wanda's knees and the sleeves are long and it's what most people would probably call  _demure_. "It matches your eyes!" Mantis says brightly, and Wanda just fidgets with the neckline. "You look lovely!"

Sam finishes brushing out her hair, and Wanda squints at herself in her tiny compact. She's looked much better on dates, but it's as good as it's going to get. "We expect a full and detailed account as soon as you get home," Sam says sternly, and she rolls her eyes, throwing the stained tissue she used to blot her lipstick at him. "And remember - never have sex on the first date. Unless you want to, because you're a consenting adult and I wanna live vicariously through you."

Rolling her eyes, Wanda swings the door open and finds Vision waiting for her, catching her breath and having to steady herself to avoid falling off her heels. There's just something about the way his hair falls stubbornly forward into his eyes, like it needs a cut, and how his hands are visibly shaking when he pulls them from his pockets to shyly offer his arm, and how he flushes when a sleek black car pulls up to them. "W-would you rather walk?" he asks, his breath spiralling upwards in frosted silver, and then hastily adds, "No, of course not, you're cold. We'll drive."

The driver - she is on a date with someone who has their own driver, a car with leather upholstery and classical jazz playing softly through ceiling speakers - doesn't speak on the journey, and Wanda stares resolutely at the back of his greying head, tongue-tied. She never usually gets nervous on dates, can normally talk on and on, but something about Vision makes everything she tries to say get trapped in her throat. "I...personally I always think that Italian is the best for this time of night," Vision says, and she just nods, awkwardly silent. "Are you hungry? I don't...how long was your shift?"

"Long enough that I'm hungry," she says, and he gives her a small smile. The kind of smile that could ruin her, making her heart skip and swoop in her chest, and she could look at him forever. Even the shape of his ears - she really must be infatuated if she's looking at someone's ears. But they're nice ears. And she's staring now, and drags her eyes to her knees, noticing a dark bruise peeking out from below the hem of her dress, and tugging it down to hide how ridiculously, embarrassingly unprepared she was for being asked out.

Vision takes her to a tiny restaurant somewhere down an alleyway, with checkered tablecloths and a ridiculously broad, bald chef tossing pizza dough behind the counter, and they're shown to a table in a quiet corner, the tiny red glass vase bursting with sprigs of lavender and daisies, and he gives her another small smile. "Be careful what you order, Drax likes to go heavy on the garlic," he says, and she tries very hard not to think that he's saying that because he intends to end the night kissing.

She orders pizza, adding roast peppers and onions and chicken and extra cheese, and her heart keeps swooping whenever she sees the way Vision is smiling at her over the rim of his wine glass, finding herself caught up in staring at his fingers wrapped around the handle of his knife as he butters slices of bread for his minestrone. Wondering exactly how his fingers, so deft and gentle and skilled with food, would feel on her skin. Sliding up beneath the hem of Mantis' dress, and she pulls her thoughts hastily away from that train and asks, "Isn't it weird for you, eating out?"

"What do you mean?" he asks, and for a moment she's too caught up in the smoothness of his accent and the softness of his voice to actually hear what he's saying.

"I mean...don't you find yourself judging people?" she asks. "Isn't it weird to eat other people's food when you're a chef?"

"Not at all," he says, breaking off a piece of bread to dip into his soup with those long fingers that she keeps finding herself staring at, dammit. "I can learn from anyone, whether they own their own restaurant or they cook as a simple hobby. Something as small as changing the type of flour, or the ratio of cinnamon to nutmeg, can drastically improve a recipe. I could never figure out the perfect way to make ribs until Rhodey gave me Carol's recipe."

Picking at her pizza crust, generously sprinkled with garlic salt, she searches frantically for another tendril of conversation to grasp, and finally asks, "What's the first thing that made you want to be a chef?" Then kicks herself, because way to ask a ridiculously deep question.

"I was in the foster system for most of my childhood, bouncing around a lot," he says, and she forces herself to meet his eyes, because she can't listen to him tell his tragic backstory but not look him in the eye. "I was about eight when I had the foster family that came the closest to being permanent. My foster father would make bread every Sunday without fail. He showed me how to do it, how to add my own flair to every recipe and make it mine. When they suddenly had to move away and my social worker wouldn't let them take me, I went back into care. And I started cooking, and eventually managed to make my way to culinary school."

"You never had a family?" she asks, and he shakes his head. She chews silently on a piece of pepper for a moment, and says, "My parents died when I was ten. My brother and I ran away from the orphanage when we were fifteen. We both worked where we could to make money to leave Sokovia. I didn't get my GED until I was almost twenty."

"You're Sokovian?" he asks, and she nods, anxiously shredding her side salad, nervous at having told him that so quickly. "I went to Sokovia last year for the scenery. It's beautiful. The Novi Grad market is one of the loveliest I've ever been to."

"My father had a stall there," she says, nostalgia bringing a soft smile to her face. "He made these little wood carvings and sold them as trinkets. Always brought my mother flowers, and he'd bring me and my brother the fancy jams and chutneys. I'd keep the jars because they were too pretty to throw away and catch fireflies in them."

"You have a brother?" he asks, and she blinks back the tears that start to prickle behind her eyes.

"Had," she says, her voice hollow and sad. "He died almost two years ago. Car accident."

"I'm sorry," he says, and he  _means_  it. It's not just an empty consolation, his eyes sad and his hand reaching across the table to very gently caress the back of her hand. His fingertips are warm and gentle, and when she glances from them to his eyes he blushes.

"I found your show after Pietro died," she says, and his eyes widen. As if he'd almost forgotten that to her, he's a celebrity. "I...spiralled after his funeral. I wasn't eating much more than instant ramen and coffee and sometimes bread, and I wasn't sleeping well. Ended up clicking onto you because...well, I was channel-hopping and saw a cute guy." He blushes deeper, red spilling over his high cheekbones, and she grins to herself. "You were making sweetcorn soup, and I just found myself following along. I stole all the ingredients from my roommates, and even though it was so late I made it. Didn't eat much of it right then, but I...I felt better. You...your show made me feel like I could do things again. Even if it was just cooking."

"Cooking is therapeutic," he says, and she smiles softly. "There's nothing like having some bread in the oven and soup on the stove to make everything feel better. And once you get good enough to work without a recipe, it's just you and the ingredients. It's wonderful."

"And I'm sure it makes you an excellent judge of the best places to go for food," she says, taking the last bite of her pizza. "That was delicious. I'm used to pre-made pizza dough."

"I'll teach you to make the real thing," he says with a small smile, and she flushes. "Now, you have to try the hot chocolate. It's like nothing else."

She slips into the bathroom while he orders cups to take with them, and stares at her reflection. A starry-eyed, pink-cheeked girl stares back at her, and she smooths her fingers through her hair and wipes away a smudge of lipstick, beaming at herself. At the wonderful dinner she's having with someone so sweet, so honest, so  _attractive_ , and she unearths a piece of slightly dusty gum from the bottom of her bags and chews frantically, huffing a breath into her cupped palm and sniffing for any trace of garlic. After all, she'd very much like to get a goodnight kiss.

Vision is waiting for her, grey scarf tucked around his neck, and presses a warm takeaway cup into her hands. "I thought you'd like it with extra cinnamon," he says, and she smiles and finds the boldness to raise her head and kiss his cheek. Pulling back to see a smudge of her lipstick on his skin and a deep blush in his cheeks.

He insists on driving her home, even though there's a perfectly good subway route back to her apartment, and she sits next to him sipping on the frankly heavenly hot chocolate and watching him. The line of his jaw, the motion of his throat when he swallows, the nervous tapping of his fingers against his thigh. Noticing the subtle pinstripe of his pants, and finding herself moving her hand ever so gradually across the spread of the seat between them to cup over his knee. Even in the dark, she can see his cheeks darkening from just slightly pink from the cold to deep red, and smirks to herself.

She wishes he couldn't see quite how shabby her apartment building is, hastening to get out herself, but he insists on opening the door for her and walking her to the door. Her mouth dry and her heart seemingly about to pound right through her dress, she says, "I had a really lovely time. Thank you."

"It was the least I could do for causing you to spill all that wine," he says, and she ducks her head and flushes. Wondering if she'll ever be allowed to forget how she met this man that she's been idolising for so long. "I...I had a very nice time too. I, um...Tony told me repeatedly that I should take you out for dinner."

"Why?" she asks, the hint of a teasing smile slipping into the corners of her mouth, and he flushes, running a nervous hand through his hair.

"He said that I, um...I didn't stop talking about you after we met," he says, and her heart leaps into her throat. "And that...if I asked you out, he'd consider it an engagement present. He said he would...um, do it himself if I didn't."

"I'm glad it was you," she says, and he flushes.

"Me too," he says, and grins momentarily, so handsome her knees turn temporarily to liquid. "Tony's English accent is terrible. He couldn't convincingly pretend to be me."

"Did he include anything else in this deal?" she asks, saying a silent prayer of thanks to Tony Stark. Multi-billionaire. King of the clean energy industry. And the mastermind behind her scoring a date with Victor Shade, TV chef and Cosmopolitan's number four most eligible bachelor of 2018. "Maybe something about a goodnight kiss?"

"...Maybe," he mumbles, blushing a red almost identical to his sweater, and she smiles. Lifts herself up unsteadily onto her tiptoes, traces the tip of a finger down his cheek, his skin burning hot with embarrassment to the touch, and presses her lips soundly to his. He smells like warmth and clean clothes and fresh air, comforting, and there's the taste of chocolate on his lips, and something she thinks might be lavender when she runs a hand gently through his hair to cup the back of his head. And now she knows that Victor Shade, eligible bachelor, is a fantastic kisser. And definitely not eligible anymore if she has a single thing to say about it.

"You have no idea how long I've thought about that," she says softly when they part, even though she'd very much like to not let go and drag him upstairs when she hears the way his breath shudders as she brushes her tongue gently along his bottom lip before she breaks away.

"C-c-c-c...c-ca-can...can I see you again?" he stammers out, eyes dark, and she grins, reaching up to brush a smear of her lipstick away from the corner of his mouth.

"Give me your phone," she says, and he scrambles to do it, nearly dropping it in his haste. She keys her number in and slides it neatly back into his pocket, smiling. "Call me."

"Okay," he says, blinking owlishly, and she smiles and kisses him again. Wonders if it's possible to stay on this sidewalk forever, kissing Vision, his hand pressing at the small of her back and his lips sweet against hers.

But the autumn evening chill is creeping under the sleeves of her jacket, and she's staring to shiver, and, regretfully, has to pull away. Thrilling at the way Vision momentarily leans forward to chase her lips, and giving him a smile. "See you soon," she says softly, and he nods, and when she turns back after working the stiff lock on the front door open he's still watching. Still blushing, and waggling his fingers at her in a nervous approximation of a wave. She waves back, and practically flies up the stairs she's so happy.

Natasha is sitting up on the couch, drinking ginger tea that Wanda can smell from across the room and cracking pistachios. "Did you go to the doughnut place?" she asks, gesturing at the box poking out of Wanda's bag. "Hide them quickly, Thor is here."

"Wanda!" comes the familiar boom, and Wanda carefully sets her bag down before she flashes a smile at Thor. There's a child-sized orange handprint on the shoulder of his white shirt, a purple one at his hip and a green-brown one right in the centre of his chest, and she lets him hug her while pretending not to notice the pink rash of beard-burn all over Jane's cheeks and chin. "Isn't it a little late for you to be coming home?"

"I had a date," she says, and pulls the box of macarons out of her bag. "Does anyone want one?"

She ignores the flood of questions and goes back to her room, pressing her fingertips to her lips. She can still taste Vision's lips on her tongue, and throws off Mantis' dress into a crumpled heap before she slips into bed, remembering the rasp of his breath when she broke the kiss as her fingers idly trace over her stomach and down.

* * *

"What is so much more interesting than me, Maximoff?" Sam whines, and Wanda just rolls her eyes, continuing to tap out a reply to the photograph Vision sent her. He's making rum and raisin scones for Tony and Pepper's slightly more intimate engagement party, and she's grinning like an idiot at her phone because he's sent her six different tie options so far. Her favourite is a bowtie patterned with doves, and she's determined to see him wear it. "You got a boyfriend and suddenly I, your best friend, am no longer important, is that it?"

" _I'm_  her best friend, babe," Natasha says, shooting her boyfriend a sharp look over the mason jar she's drinking out of. Mantis' latest adorable addition to her and Nebula's kitchen, now forever sullied by the eye-wateringly strong cocktails Natasha makes for potluck dinners.

"And Vizh isn't my boyfriend," Wanda says, the taste of the nickname still fizzing pleasantly at the tip of her tongue. It just slipped out one night on the phone - they haven't had time for another date, what with his busy filming and writing schedule - and she could practically hear him blushing. "He's just...a guy."

"I'm just a guy, but you don't go on adorable dates to little family-run Italian places with me," Sam says, and Wanda deeply regrets ever telling him the details. "You don't ramble on for hours about how I smell like lavender."

"Because you smell like black pepper and sandalwood, or whatever scent of Axe body spray you're buying this week," Wanda retorts.

"I smell masculine and delicious!" Sam protests, and tugs on Natasha's foot, curled up beneath her while she sits on the couch flicking through a book about plantcare that was placed neatly on the coffee table when they arrived. " _Babe_ , tell her I smell masculine and delicious!"

"Don't pretend you've never stolen my avocado and strawberry body wash, Samuel," she says coolly, and Wanda snorts into her glass.

Once they're all around the table, Mantis already slurring her words slightly from Natasha's far too effective mixology skills, Wanda reaches straight for the stuffed peppers she brought. "Let me guess - a Victor Shade recipe?" Nebula deadpans, and Wanda pokes her tongue out at her friend. "Why didn't you just invite him?"

"He's filming," she says, and helps herself to a generous slice of Nebula's chicken pie, assembling a collection of everything her friends have brought for their monthly potluck dinner on her plate. "And he's catering Tony and Pepper's friends-only engagement party pretty much single-handed."

"You should invite him anyway," Mantis says, flushed with drink, curling into Nebula's side and idly sprinkling more salt onto her potato salad. "Tell him to bring some food. We wanna meet him!"

"I think it's a bit early for you guys to meet him," Wanda says, pulling the pots of hummus towards her plate to get at the tub of red pepper flavour before anyone else can. "And I don't want you all fawning over him because he's a celebrity."

"No one could fawn over him worse than you, and now you're dating him," Natasha points out, taking a long sip of her drink that seems to have little to no effect on her considering it's mostly vodka, and Wanda wills herself not to blush. Dipping cheesy breadsticks into her dollop of hummus instead of answering, and reaching for her phone. Before she can second-guess herself.

**To: Vizh**

**If you want a break from the scones, I'm at a potluck dinner with my friends. You could come join us? Bring dessert?**

**From: Vizh**

**If you give me twenty minutes to finish wrestling with this salad dressing, I'll be there**

**To: Vizh**

**That's what every girl wants to hear**

She sends him the address, and finishes her food knowing she's made him blush. It's one of her favourite things about him, the way the colour starts at his ears and spills down his sharp cheekbones. One day she wants to drag her lips over the same path, trace her tongue over the shell of his ear, whisper something that will make him blush even deeper. Make his gorgeous, long fingers grip her tighter.

"You better not be fantasising about your boyfriend at my table," Nebula says, threat hanging heavy in her voice, and Wanda shakes her head wordlessly, taking far too big a bite of her too-hot pie and making a huge show of having to gulp down wine to stop her from burning her tongue. It really would be a shame to burn her mouth, because then how would she learn exactly how to get Vision to make that breathy sound again. She'd have to wait to find out exactly what kind of sounds follow it when she holds him closer and pushes her tongue past his lips and slides her hands from very respectably resting on his shoulders to much less respectable places.

Thor stays at the table the longest, of course, making sure no plate or bowl is left with anything in it, and Mantis is crouched on the floor with Rocket in her lap, twitching his little bunny nose and shaking his floppy grey ears. Wanda is chewing gum and watching her phone anxiously, and when the buzzer sounds she flies to her feet before Sam cries out, "Wait!" and she nearly drops her wine glass. Looking down at him, sprawled on the carpet playing a fiercely competitive game of Monopoly with Jane, Natasha and Nebula, she raises an eyebrow and he says, "Pull your dress down. Give him the full benefit of your cleavage."

"Do it," Mantis adds sagely, with a tipsy hiccup, and Wanda rolls her eyes at them. Not that it stops her from following their advice. It is, after all, the first time Vision has seen her in her own clothes that aren't work uniform, and when she pulls this black dress down just right it offers a glimpse of the lacy edge of her bra for anyone taller than her. And he's quite a lot taller than her.

Vision rounds the edge of the stairwell with an ice-cream tub in his hands and a bottle of definitely fancy wine - a real cork, no screw-top business - under his arm, and she gives him a lingering up and down look. His black pants fit perfectly, skimming over those long legs she's definitely had some  _interesting_  thoughts about, and his grey sweater fits him extremely well, drawing her thoroughly interested gaze to his shoulders. And he smiles at her and his eyes light up, and when he reaches her he lowers his head to kiss her. Cups a free hand to her waist, his fingers cold through her dress, and she shivers and presses harder into the kiss.

"We would like to  _meet_  your date, Maximoff, not watch you make out with him!" Nebula shouts, ad Wanda breaks the kiss to see Vision's dazed, flushed face. Smirks to herself and pulls him inside, closing the door and waving a theatrical hand around the room.

"These are my friends, Vizh," she says. "Sam, Natasha, Nebula, Mantis, Jane, and Thor. They convinced me to invite you."

"Thank you, darling, or I would've spent the entire night stuffing olives," he says, and she shivers in delight at the nickname, just the same as she did when it slipped out over the phone and he spent almost a minute frantically apologising before she reassured him he could call her anything he wanted.

"Now you can spend the night stuffing something else-  _ow_!" Natasha smacks Sam very hard across the shoulder, taking the opportunity to steal a hundred dollar bill from his pile of carefully guarded Monopoly money.

"I brought wine," Vision says, looking nonplussed by the comment, and Wanda breathes a sigh of relief. They haven't talked about sex yet, they're on what barely qualifies as a second date, and she's spent too long thinking about him to quite reconcile the reality of him with that fantasy yet. "And lemon and ginger ice cream."

" _Ooh_!" Mantis squeals, so loudly Rocket lets out an affronted rabbit noise and jumps off her lap, hopping across the room to climb into Nebula's instead. "Did you make it?"

"I did," he says, and Mantis squeals again. "Um...I'll let it thaw for a while. Wanda, could you show me the kitchen?"

She takes his hand and pulls him away from her friends, into the relative quiet of the kitchen. Under the brighter lights, she can truly admire him. He's pink-cheeked from the cold, and there's flour in his hair, and he smells like baking, sweet and warm and wonderful. "You didn't have to come face them," she says. "We're not...anything."

"Oh...don't you want to be?" he asks, face falling into an expression akin to a kicked puppy. "I just...I thought...well, I think...I...this...I'll speak for myself, I think this...it works." He takes a deep breath like he just ran a marathon and says, "I like you. I would like to be...something."

"Like a boyfriend and girlfriend something?" she asks, and he flushes.

"I know that we...we've only technically been on one date," he says. "But I...I had a really lovely time. And I...we talk every day. The only other person I talk to every day is my manager, and I...I talk to you out of choice. I want to. I look forward to it."

"Vizh," she breathes, and reaches up to cup his face between her hands, looking up into his so very blue eyes. "I wanna be your girlfriend. I thought you'd never ask."

"You don't strike me as the type to wait for me to do the asking," he says, and she smiles softly.

"I'm not," she promises. "But maybe I'm not the type who wants to ask a gorgeous guy to be my boyfriend over the phone."

"I'm gorgeous?" he asks, and she just shakes her head fondly.

"Do you have any idea how many eligible bachelor lists you're on?" she asks, and he shakes his head. "Well, now, none. Because you're not eligible. You have a girlfriend."

"I do," he says, and he goes all soft and sweet and smiley, and she just about melts. "And she's beautiful and sweet and intelligent. And I would like to kiss her."

"She'd like that," she says, and slides her fingers into his hair as he leans down to bring their mouths together. He tastes like syrup, so sweet, his lips slightly sticky with it, and she darts her tongue out to chase the taste and feels him breathe in sharply. Smirks to herself and presses herself into him, his hands moving from her waist to wrap around her, resting at the small of her back.

So this is her life now. She's making out with Victor Shade, her  _boyfriend_ , and she has her tongue in his mouth. Tasting sugar and lemon and everything sweet, and he can probably taste vodka on her tongue but he isn't complaining. He groans, so softly but she still hears it and it goes straight to her stomach in a hot shiver, and clasps her closer, his fingers wrapped over her back. And she's pressing Victor Shade back into the counter, running her hands over his shoulders and his arms and down, and now his tongue is against hers too, and it's all so very erotic. Her hands slip further down, and now she knows what Victor Shade's ass feels like in her hands. How he groans again, and she pulls their hips together and she's pretty sure she can feel him pressing against her. She must really have an honest to God guardian angel if she's right and she can feel Victor Shade's erection pressing against her right now.

"You should know I've had sex on that exact counter," Nebula says casually, and Wanda tears herself out of the kiss to find her friend casually leaning into the room. "More than once. Recently, in fact."

" _Nebula_!" Mantis shrieks, and Wanda reluctantly takes her hands off Vision's ass. More's the pity, really. She could spend hours getting familiar with it. Learning everything. But he's hazy-eyed and very flushed, and she pulls him into the front room and deals him into the Monopoly game, taking a sip of wine and leaning contentedly against her boyfriend's shoulder.

When they leave, Jane giggly and wine-drunk while Natasha is somehow completely steady despite the amount of vodka she's drunk, Wanda pulls Vision back for a moment. "You know, I'll happily count that as our second date," she says, and he nods, and she smirks watching his gaze fall to her lips. "So, next time, it'll be the third date." She lifts herself onto his tiptoes to get her mouth close to his ear and whisper, "And you know what happens on third dates," in a hot rush of breath.

She presses a quick kiss to his slack mouth and darts away to join her roommates in the cab, leaning back against the threadbare upholstery and thinking about the pleasant curve of her boyfriend's ass under her hands.

* * *

Wanda gets perhaps a second of warning to snatch her towel back around herself before Natasha opens her door, saying, "You've definitely got a date tonight, because you didn't rinse the residue from your frantic exfoliating out of the bath and it smells like Lush in there- what are you doing?"

"Trying to decide what to wear!" Wanda snaps, frustration welling up in her words, almost kicking the edge of her bed. But she can't afford to smudge or chip her nail polish, not after it took something that felt very close to a particularly advanced variety of yoga to get them perfect.

"Whatever happened to the patented Wanda Maximoff seduction kit?" Natasha asks, leaning casually on the doorframe, folding her arms and surveying the carnage. Wanda's room currently looks like a bomb made of lace and silk exploded. "Why do you have so much underwear?"

"It's my vice," Wanda says, holding up a red set for a moment before tossing it aside in frustration. "And this is different. I actually care about Vizh. He asked me to stay the night. So I need to have an outfit that works for dinner that I can wear the sexy stuff underneath, and then pyjamas, and then something not as seductive but still nice to wear tomorrow. I'm not cut out for this."

"He asked you out while you were wearing work uniform, I'm pretty sure you can get away with anything," Natasha says, and steps over an abandoned leopard-print bra to survey the five options Wanda has it narrowed down to. "What are you wearing over this get-up?"

"I don't  _know_ ," Wanda whines, hitching her towel up and trying to run a hand through her hair before she remembers it's currently in curlers. Trying to put some bounce into it, even though she's long since stopped trying to ever get her hair into perfect curls. "This is different! I  _really_  like him, I don't wanna screw this up. What if he decides he doesn't actually want to sleep with me?"

"Wanda, babe, are you not the girl who could get someone to go outside for some hardcore groping with nothing more than a look?" Natasha asks, and Wanda flushes at the memories. "Aren't you the girl who I've walked in on with different partners multiple times? I know you've got moves!"

"But he's...Vizh is...he's  _special_ ," she insists, and Natasha's face softens for a moment. No doubt thinking about Sam, who despite being obnoxious is apparently a romantic softie when he chooses to be. Not to mention good in bed, which Natasha told her on Jane's birthday while Wanda shoved her fingers in her ears and sang Queen extremely loudly in an attempt to drown her out. "I want to remember this. Properly. He's not just some...some  _guy_  to me."

"I know," Natasha says, and sits down on the bed, picking up one of the pieces. All lace, halterneck, plunging neckline. "This one. You wore it as a shirt clubbing one time and you earned five free drinks. And because you don't like gin, I drank two of them."

"Okay," Wanda says helplessly. "Then what?"

Natasha rolls her eyes and reaches to the nightstand for Wanda's make-up bag. "Go do your face. Make it smoky. I'll pick out your outfit."

"But-"

"Honey, which of us has been in a committed relationship for two years?" Natasha asks, arching an eyebrow, and Wanda goes mute and leaves for the bathroom, emptying her make-up bag onto the counter and spraying herself down with primer water.

When she goes back to her room, her eyes smoked out dark and her lips painted scarlet, Natasha pauses to unwind her hair from the rollers, brushing it out to have some bounce to it around Wanda's bare shoulders. "I have everything sorted," she says, and briefly averts her eyes for Wanda to wriggle into the bodysuit, adjusting the neckline to properly contain everything. There's no need for Natasha to see her nipples. "Okay, now put this shirt on." A silky black shirt, just see-through enough to spark the imagination, and Wanda sees where Natasha is going. "Unbutton it more, for God's sake. You're going to get laid, not to church."

"Are you sure?" Wanda asks when Natasha has finished clasping a trailing gold necklace around her neck, exactly matching where her shirt falls to, and is holding out a pair of black pants. "Shouldn't I wear a skirt?"

"You've got good legs either way, and he's seen you in skirts before," Natasha says sternly, and under her gaze Wanda wears exactly the outfit she wants. And, glancing in the mirror, she has to admit she looks good. "Now wear your fuck-me heels."

"But they're ridiculous, I'll break something!" she protests, and Natasha rolls her eyes.

"Wanda, if there was ever a time to wear the ridiculously high heels, it's dinner with your hot celebrity chef boyfriend that will inevitably end in sex," Natasha says sternly. "Listen to me. I'm the sassy friend in every rom-com."

"But will he think I look sexy?" she asks mournfully.

"Speaking as someone who met you for the first time when you were wearing non-deliberately ripped jeans and a sweater with a huge coffee stain on the front, and still thought you were so sexy I plotted ways to get you into bed for months until you introduced me to Sam, I know he'll think you look irresistible," Natasha says, and Wanda shakes her head fondly as she slips her feet into her heels. "And you can borrow my fake fur coat. The black one."

When she leaves the apartment, Wanda grudgingly admits she feels good. She managed to walk down the stairs without falling off her heels, climbs into the cab with a modicum of grace, and when she buzzes up to Vision's apartment she's concentrating so hard on not falling off the stilettos it significantly reduces the amount of time she has to be nervous about what the night ahead holds.

Jazz is playing on low when Vision opens the door, handsome as all hell in a blue sweater and black slacks, and smiles at her. "You look beautiful," he breathes, and she melts into the kiss, cupping her hand to his cheek, the skin smooth. He shaved for her.

"So do you," she says when they part, and he blushes and ushers her wordlessly inside. His apartment is stunning, decorated with minimalism in mind but still cosy. There are herbs growing in coordinated black and white pots on the windowsill, a small fire crackling behind the grate in the marble fireplace, and tall candles burning down in sleek navy holders in the centre of the circular table. There's even a white rose in the slender glass vase, and she smiles when she notices that his music is playing from a record player, not his phone. "Your apartment is gorgeous."

"I cleaned up a lot for you," he says, flushed and flustered, and she smiles as he helps her out of her coat and hangs it up on the polished wooden coat rack. "Do you want a glass of wine? Or anything else? The starter is almost ready."

"You made a three course meal for us?" she asks, and he nods, ducking his head bashfully. "What are we having?"

"We're starting with triple cheese and tarragon stuffed mushrooms, followed by crab linguine with chilli and parsley, and chocolate-covered strawberries for dessert," Vision says, and her mouth starts to water. "And I bought wine. Red, white and rosé. Or champagne, if you'd rather?"

"White wine will be fine for now," she says, and he nods and starts fussing around finding matching glasses, holding them up to the light to check for smudges. "It all sounds delicious, Vizh. You've put a lot of effort in for me."

"I want tonight to be special," he says, and she smiles at him silkily. Knowing what he means. Waiting for him to blush and break eye contact.

Not that she ever doubted him, but everything Vision has made in delicious. She can't fathom ever having the skills for it all, even if she has gotten a lot better at cooking since she started watching his show. At least she doesn't eat instant meals as much anymore, has learned to meal prep and to add vegetables and to remember to make bread at least once a month. To find pleasure in cooking and eating. But, looking across the table at Vision halfway down a second glass of wine, thoughtfully staring at his food, she'd much rather be finding pleasure in something else.

Sipping at her fourth glass of wine and smiling at the nervous way he leaves the last strawberry for her, she reaches across the table and brushes her fingers over the inside of his wrist. "Should we move this to the bedroom?" she asks softly, looking at him from beneath her lashes, and he gulps and nods.

Vision's bedroom matches seamlessly with the rest of the apartment, but with a few more personal touches. There's a knitted blanket folded over the bottom of his bed, decorative cushions propped against the pillows, and photographs on top of the nightstand, hung on the walls, all showing him with his friends. Happy moments. Not that Wanda gets long to look around before Vision is kissing her, and she's chasing the taste of chocolate on his lips, and when he pulls back he rasps out a shaky breath and whispers, "I'm sorry. I...I'm  _very_  nervous."

"You don't have to be," she breathes, looking up into his eyes and giving him a warm smile. "It's just me."

"But you...you're just...very pretty," he says, and she smiles. "And it...it's been a while. Since I...was... _with_  someone."

"I'll make it good for you," she promises, practically a purr, and he blushes very dark. She reaches up to kiss him again, stretching her hand down to unbuckle her shoes and let them fall onto the no doubt very expensive carpet.

His mattress is extremely comfortable. But she might think that because she's also lying on top of him, tracing her hands over his chest and up beneath his sweater to feel how warm his skin is, to hear his quiet gasps as she explores, his hand bunching up the fabric of her shirt. "You're beautiful," he whispers when she breaks the kiss, and she smiles. "Can I...can I, um...undress you?"

"Of course you can," she breathes, and he reaches up to so carefully unclasp her necklace, setting it down on his nightstand with great care to make sure it won't tangle. Then he slowly unbuttons her shirt, anticipation making her heart pound and her breath catch, and his eyes are wide when he pulls the halves apart and gently down her arms. He's staring, and she laughs softly and asks, "Like what you see?"

"Wow," he breathes, and traces his hands up from her hips to cup her breasts, and she groans, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth and arching into his touch. "Oh  _wow_."

"Wow yourself," she says, breathless and shaky, and lifts his sweater over his head, pressing herself against him and into another kiss. More frantic this time, her tongue in his mouth, her hands clutching at his hair, and then he breaks away and starts to kiss down her neck, teeth scraping against where her skin is most sensitive, and she groans at the back of her throat and rocks her hips into his.

She's imagined this moment so many times. On cold nights. Lonely nights. Tipsy nights. Any night when she was bored and found her hand straying below her waistband, really. But her imagination never thought that Victor Shade would fumble unzipping her pants, or that he'd kiss her in between apologies while she knocked his fingers aside and did it herself. She never thought he'd trace his fingertips so tenderly up her spine and make her squirm, or that he'd be so awkward getting out of his slacks, and they'd laugh before starting to kiss again. She never imagined that he'd lay her down on the bed and pull down the straps of her bodysuit and kiss every inch of newly-exposed skin so slowly, worshipping her, and she'd tangle her fingers in his hair and whisper his name and encourage him to go on and on.

He dips down between her legs, his lips so gentle on the insides of her thighs, and she arches her hips and cries out his name, ordering him to not stop, never stop, pleading for faster, harder, more. And after she comes, shaking and clutching at him, he kisses his way back up to her lips, and she pushes him onto his back and straddles his lap and slides her hand into his underwear, stroking him so slowly, kissing every moan from his lips.

She imagined that Victor Shade would be a passionate lover, his hands all over her, and that when she touched him he'd feel this good, hard in her hand, his hips shifting impatiently into her touch. But she never thought that he'd pull her gently away, break the kiss and blink up at her with lust-dark eyes as he breathed, "I want to be inside you." That isn't Victor Shade, but her Vision. Her boyfriend. Holding her hips so gently as she steadies herself and sinks onto him, moaning her name, and she presses her lips to the hollow of his neck and starts to move, her nails digging into his shoulders because he feels so  _perfect_.

They're kissing so passionately, so slow and deep, and she whispers his name like a prayer, and every time her hips move he gasps and holds her tighter, she can hardly tell where she ends and he begins, and her second orgasm creeps up on her until she's tearing her mouth from his and gasping his name, sliding a hand down between them to touch herself, and he stares at her fingers and spits a low, " _Fuck_ ," that sends her over the edge. She stills, and he whimpers her name, a quiet plea, and she kisses him again and moves, so slowly, and he presses his forehead into her shoulder and whispers, " _Wanda_ ," when he comes.

Her imagination never filled in what happens after. When he pulls away very carefully, goes to the bathroom and comes back with a wet flannel, cleaning them both up. He insists on changing the sheets, and she goes to the bathroom and stares at herself in the mirror. Flushed and sweaty and starry-eyed, grinning at herself like the cat that got the cream. And when she returns to his arms, wearing her shorts and a white T-shirt he let her borrow that smells like him, sugar and lavender and freshness, he brings her hand to his lips and kisses her knuckles. "Thank you," he breathes, and she smiles, kissing his shoulder.

"My pleasure," she says, and he laughs quietly in the dark, and she tangles their legs together and drapes an arm over his side, sighing her happiness sweetly against the back of his neck.

He even has the nerve to prove himself the most perfect man by making her French toast in the morning. Even remembering she likes golden syrup over maple, and sprinkling cinnamon over apple slices to make something truly decadent.

She rewards him for that by dragging him to bed and giving him a good-morning blowjob. The food is cold by the time they get to it, but it still tastes incredible and she can't stop smiling. She's slightly sore, a little hungover, has crumbs in her hair, hickies on her stomach, and she's never been happier.

And when Vision kisses her goodbye, toying with the hem of her plaid skirt, he whispers, "You're the most wonderful woman, Wanda Maximoff." She smiles, and kisses him rather than saying anything. There's nothing she can say in words that isn't obvious in the way she curves her hand gently around his cheek and holds him close.

* * *

Being with Vision is something new and bright and wonderful. She's  _happy_ , really genuinely happy. The kind of happy that makes her wake up earlier just to watch the sunrise, humming to herself while she gets ready for work, making jokes with customers. Nebula rolls her eyes and scoffs about love bubbles, but Wanda doesn't even notice the negativity. She's too busy working hard, keeping up with her college work, and making time every single day to talk to her boyfriend. Vision. Who she's known for only a few months but has come to mean as much to her as people she's known for years.

She remembers thinking that relationships were a silly risk, that they couldn't last, that people would always leave the first time it got difficult. But she can't imagine Vision ever turning his back on her. He calls her while he's waiting for lights to be checked at filming, and she can hear his smile through the phone, and can never help smiling herself. This relationship, this exact one, is everything she always dreamed of. Flowers delivered to her door, goodnight texts, and every time she gets to see him in person they can't keep their hands off each other. It's perfect, and for once in her life she isn't afraid that all that perfection will come crashing down. She's simply living the happiness.

Visiting the set where he films, the bright lights and the people constantly rushing back and forth, watching him speak in his lovely soothing voice to the camera about all the best Thanksgiving dishes, and his assistant, Darcy, is bringing her another coffee. She's younger and less formal than Wanda expected, running back and forth in jeans and sneakers and an oversized sweater, her mass of curls crammed under a beanie, and she doesn't even bother trying to whisper when she says, "He's never brought a girlfriend to the set before. You must be pretty special."

Between takes, Wanda goes to Vision, dusting flour from his hands, and reaches up to gently brush a smudge of cocoa powder away from his cheek. "How do you always get something on your face?" she asks teasingly, and he shrugs.

"I just get too excited to notice if I'm making a mess," he says.

"Maybe you should be more careful," she says. "I can't be seen with a man covered in floury fingerprints, it just doesn't work. I have an image to maintain."

"Is that so?" he teases, and runs a finger through the scattering of flour on the counter. Flicking it onto the end of her nose before she can stop him, and just grinning when she glares at him. "It suits you."

She gets her revenge, of course. Kissing him to distract him while she gets her hand covered in flour, and making sure to leave a perfectly white handprint on his ass. His manager glares at her, the grey-haired guy she still hasn't learned the name of, but she just smirks and leaves Vision flustered, having to restart the take through his stammering.

When he's finished filming for the rest of the year, it seems like they're never apart. He spends so much of his time in a booth at the restaurant, flustering the other waitstaff as they trip over themselves gazing at him, and all her breaks are spent kissing him, cradling his face gently between her hands, going back to her locker to fix her lipstick while Sam wolf whistles at her and she rolls her eyes, flushed and happy. Knowing the perfect man is waiting for her, to take her back to his apartment and make her dinner and let her use his huge bathtub. Sliding in with her so she can make love to him amongst the bubbles and the flickering light of sweet-smelling candles.

He invites her to the annual Stark Industries Charity Gala, to mingle with millionaires and billionaires and people who she imagines will look down their noses at a waitress who can't afford the kind of dresses they'll all be wearing, never mind the shoes or the jewellery. But he does nothing but smile when he picks her up from her dingy apartment block, her hair carefully braided up, wearing a long red dress that she bought second-hand and has done her best to make look classier with layers of jewellery and heels borrowed from Natasha. He kisses her cheek and whispers, "You look beautiful," and she relaxes into him.

She doesn't know any of the people she supposes are there for the mingling, and Vision is too shy to push much. They sit with Bruce, the two men in earnest conversation, and Wanda lets her eyes drift over the party. Beautiful people in bright clothes, talking loudly and drinking too much, and she slips her arm around Vision and leans into him, smiling when he brushes a kiss to her temple.

Neither of them is much good at dancing, arms around each other and swaying gently to the quiet music. But he's warm and solid and he smells good, and when she looks up into his eyes he very quietly says, "Spend Christmas with me."

"Really?" she asks, and a flush spills into his cheek.

"I mean...unless you have other plans," he says hastily, and she shakes her head. Beams up and kisses him, draping an arm languidly around his neck, unable to help grinning against his mouth. "Is..." He takes a deep, steadying breath, straightening his crooked tie, very flushed, eyes dark with desire. "Is that a yes?"

"As long as you do all the cooking," she says, and he grins, and they fall into another kiss. Never noticing the flashing cameras that finally see that Victor Shade has moved on from that last girlfriend and has someone new, someone dark-haired and pretty and completely unknown.

They make love when a tipsy Tony finally releases them into the hotel room reserved for them upstairs, Vision's long, clever fingers working the zip of her dress down so she can step out of it, smirking up at him. He has her crying out his name, bucking on top of him, kissing him while they both come down and curling up against his back, sliding her cold feet against the warmth of his calves and smiling into his shoulder, their linked hands resting at his hip.

When morning comes, the photograph of them is everywhere, everyone talking about Victor Shade's new girlfriend. And she just relaxes against him, tearing off pieces of room service pancakes, and smiles. The whole world can see that he makes her happy, that she makes him happy. They're good for each other, that's what Natasha keeps telling her, and what Tony said when he pulled her aside and thanked her profusely for taking a chance on his shy friend. She silences his profuse apologies for dragging her into the world of celebrity with a kiss, promising he can say whatever he wants to the masses clamouring to know who his new girlfriend is, and she doesn't care about the unexpected limelight.

She almost tells him she loves him. At that moment, with the winter dawn stretching pale fingers of light through the window of their hotel room, her fingers sticky with syrup and her coffee getting colder by the second. Looking up into Vision's eyes bright with concern, his hands wrapped around his mug of hot chocolate, earnest and sweet and so handsome. Her lips start to shape the words, but she kisses him instead, plucking the mug gently from his hand and pressing him back against the pillows.

They decorate his apartment together, since Jane will be with Thor's family for the holidays and Natasha is already with Sam's, sending almost hourly texts singing Sam's mother's praises. Wanda drinks wine, watches Vision hang the lights, and kisses him soundly beneath the single swirling sprig of mistletoe. He cooks dinner, comforting macaroni and cheese, and they start  _The Holiday_  but she falls asleep before it's halfway over. Wakes up in his bed, safe and warm and comforted, and smiles up at the ceiling.

It's like no Christmas she's ever had. Being with her boyfriend, seeing him when he isn't filming or at some fancy event, padding barefoot around his apartment, hair in his eyes, the kitchen warm and light and filled with the scent of the endless parade of delicious food he pulls from it. Breakfast by the tree, him kissing her cheek when he presents her with a neatly-wrapped present. A necklace, a kiss brushed to the back of her neck when he clasps it for her, and she flushes nervously when he unwraps his. But he wraps the scarf around his neck immediately, grinning, and kisses her so soundly it's difficult to unwind themselves from around each other when timers start shrieking in the kitchen.

They make love on the rug in front of his fireplace as night sweeps across the sky, the crackle of flames in the background, and he pulls her close on the couch afterwards, fingers sliding gently through her hair, kissing her shoulder gently. She tangles her legs through his, curls her fingers around the new weight of her necklace, and whispers, "I love you."

"I love you too." It's an instant reply, not a moment's hesitation. And she smiles. Turns over to straddle Vision's lap and kiss him. The flames crackle on in the background, and she's in love.

She's happier than she could have ever dreamed of being.

* * *

"Hey Maximoff, did you hear about what 2019 holds for sexy chef Victor Shade?" Sam calls out across the staffroom, teasing, and Wanda rolls her eyes, smoothing her hair back into a neat bun. "'Shade's manager, Thaddeus Ross, teases that the year holds something very special for the chef, a former eligible bachelor. Certain fans have already taken to Twitter to wonder aloud whether Shade's manager is referring to something happening between Shade and his girlfriend of five months, Wanda Maximoff. Could there be a proposal in the offing - or perhaps even a baby?'"

"I hate to deny you the opportunity to partake in celebrity gossip, but I'm not pregnant," she says, though she can't pretend she doesn't remember the way Vision talked on New Year's Day. Blushing, and very quiet, but still stumbling out that he loves her more than anything. That if she  _wants_  to get married, they can. That he didn't tell her, very quietly, that he thinks about a future with her in it. With her and a wedding and a baby. Perhaps. One day.

"Damn, I was hoping I'd get to sell the exclusive for five figures," Sam says sadly, and she shakes her head at him. "You sure? I mean you got a hot boyfriend, presumably you're having sex with him! You sure there's no bun in the oven?"

"I'm sure, Sam," she says, and slams her locker door shut, smoothing her skirt over her hips. "Why don't you stop bothering me about my personal life and go serve the customers?"

"Damn, Maximoff, you've changed since you got your blurry photo on the celebrity gossip blogs," he says in a faux-wounded tone, drifting back into the main body of the restaurant, and Wanda rolls her eyes.

**From: Vizh <3**

**I know I said I would drop by and make dinner for us tonight but Thaddeus booked a meeting. I'm so sorry.**

**To: Vizh**   **< 3**

**:( but don't worry about it babe! We can reschedule to another night!**

**From: Vizh <3**

**I'm really really sorry. He just sprung it on me. I miss you.**

**To: Vizh <3**

**Miss you too...is it like a suit meeting?**

**From: Vizh <3**

**Yes...**

**To: Vizh <3**

**Send pics ;)**

"Maximoff!" Maria shouts from her office, and Wanda hastily stuffs her phone back into her locker. "I don't pay you to stand around texting your boyfriend!"

Grabbing a series of menus to redistribute in the carnage that follows the lunch rush, Wanda shimmies past Mantis into the main body of the restaurant, grabbing herself a tray to pile empty plates and glasses onto. Pausing when she senses someone looking at her, and looks up to see a woman squinting at her from another table. "Aren't you Victor Shade's girlfriend?" she asks, and Wanda can feel herself straightening up in pride.

"I am," she says, and the woman's face lights up.

"Tell him I'm such a huge fan!" she says, voice all breathy and excited, and Wanda just nods. Wondering if she was this bad when she first started watching Vision's show. Then having to admit to herself that she was almost definitely worse. But then, she's now dating him, so clearly she did something right. "Are the rumours true?" She leans across the table, her voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper as she asks, "Are you two really... _expecting_?"

"We're not," Wanda says, feeling a slight flush steal into her cheeks at having to answer such a question at  _work_. "You know what the gossip is like. One photograph from a slightly weird angle and everyone thinks they see a bump. We're just...together."

"I think you two are very sweet," she says, and Wanda can't help the smugness that weaves its way into her smile. "I'm rooting for you!"

She can't help it if there's something of a pep in her step for the rest of the work day. Helped by the fact that her shift finishes before the dinner rush and Sam offers to drive her home, so she doesn't have to try the subway and risk getting recognised again. There are perils to suddenly being in gossip blogs, everyone having an opinion on the fact that Victor Shade has a new girlfriend. Seeing people judge her appearance, wonder why someone as famous as Vision is dating a waitress. Having to bite her tongue and swallow her jealousy when she sees people sighing over how good he looks in every new interview and photograph, to remind herself that he's dating  _her_ , not any of the thousands of people who swoon over him on Twitter. He's her boyfriend and they've talked about marriage and the future and she won't let unnecessary jealousy ruin anything.

Standing over the kitchen counter chopping peppers, she almost leaps for her phone when it starts to ring, smiling at the photograph of Vision that blooms onto the screen. With flour in his hair, smiling at her while she tried to teach him to make mlinci, getting distracted by the need to kiss his adorable face. Shoving her pile of yellow and red stripes of pepper aside on the chopping board, she reaches for an onion and clicks him onto speaker, saying, "Hi babe, how was the meeting?"

"Thaddeus did most of the talking, I just sat back thinking about how much I would rather be with you," he says, and she giggles giddily, throwing peppers in her already simmering bowl of vegetables. "What are you cooking? I can hear the oil popping."

"Stir-fry, and I bought doughnuts on the way home, couldn't resist," she says. "I'll save one for you if you want. Will you be in the restaurant tomorrow?"

"I might drop by to see my girlfriend," he says, and she smiles towards the phone, still giddy every time he calls her his girlfriend. "But I have something Thaddeus wanted me to ask you."

"Christ, I thought you'd already made it clear to your manager that I'm not pregnant," she says, and he chuckles softly. "What's going on?"

"I have a talk show appearance next Saturday night, and he told me to ask if you want to be there," he says, and she almost catches her finger with the edge of her knife. "Not to come onto the show, obviously. But you could be backstage, and have dinner with me and Thaddeus and Darcy afterwards."

"What are you going to talk about?" she asks. "Your wonderful girlfriend who has made your life so much brighter?"

"Almost certainly, darling," he says, and she beams at her phone, as if he can see her. "We'll just talk about the reception of the last series, and the book I'm working on, you know, boring stuff. He'll want to ask about the pregnancy rumours, probably. Thaddeus will just be there to steer things away from gossip. And I want you there."

"Do I get to dress up all fancy and be seen with my gorgeous boyfriend by the paparazzi?" she asks, smirking over the fact that she  _knows_  Vision is blushing over her calling him gorgeous.

"If you want to dress up you can," he says softly, and she smiles.

"You can pick me up whenever you want," she says, and he laughs, and she lets him talking about something else wash over her, content to simply listen to his voice.

* * *

Reaching across the gap between the velvety red armchairs in the studio green room, Wanda sets a gentle hand on Vision's rhythmically bobbing knee, stopping him shaking his leg, and he glances up to meet her eyes. "Are you nervous?"

"I don't like talk show appearances," he says, eyes darting towards his manager, talking to one of the producers of the show. Casting her eyes towards Thaddeus Ross, his grey hair slicked back and his suit a dull navy, Wanda almost wants to tell Vision to leave the appearance to his manager and sweep him out for a quiet meal somewhere. Take him back to her apartment and make love to him, slow and sweet, the way they haven't gotten to do in weeks, being too busy to spend much time together and too tired to spend hours wrapped around each other when they have been together.

She slides out of her seat and into his lap, kissing him softly, running her hand very gently through his hair, trying not to disturb the way he was styled. "You don't need to be nervous," she says, ghosting her fingertips over his cheekbone, his head turning to press a kiss into her palm. "The whole world loves you. You just need to sit there and smile and a million people sigh over the former fourth most eligible bachelor."

"You're never going to let me forget that, are you?" he asks, and she thrills inwardly at all those easy words imply. That they'll be together for long enough that she can remind him whenever she wants of what a catch he's considered to be.

"I wouldn't want anyone to forget I managed to snag someone so universally considered eligible," she says, cupping his face between her hands. "I got a good catch."

"So did I," he breathes, and she beams and kisses him. And he intensifies the kiss first, his mouth opening slightly beneath hers and his hand sliding from resting just above her knee to tease his fingertips beneath the hem of her dress, gliding over her lacy tights in a way that makes a shiver slip down her spine.

"Alright, Mr. Shade, get out there, it's almost showtime!" a producer chirps, effectively ending their kiss, and Wanda reluctantly slides out of Vision's lap and back into her seat. Thrilling at him having to take a moment to compose himself before he can stand up, giving him a teasing smirk when he glances at her just to watch him blush.

"Break a leg," she says, and reaches out to reassuringly squeeze his hand. "You'll be amazing."

"I love you," he says, and she tugs him over for a very quick kiss.

"Love you too."

She can feel herself simply glowing with pride watching Vision in front of a camera, being broadcast live to millions of people. He's obviously nervous, sitting very straight in his chair, fingers wrapped very tightly around his glass of water, but she can see him slowly start to relax. As soon as he's asked about the show, he starts talking so much easier, waving a hand to emphasise his points, and she's lost in watching him. That's her  _boyfriend_ , out under the bright studio lights telling millions of people that he finds it so much easier to film when he's happy because of his girlfriend, and people wolf whistle when he mentions her name, and she just grins. Vision is telling millions of people that she makes him happy, and she's watching him and waiting for his segment to be over so she can kiss him absolutely silly.

"Now, your manager has been teasing us that there's something big coming this year," the white-toothed host says, and Vision looks to Ross, the tips of his ears flushing. "And plenty of people have been speculating that this something is happening between you and the lovely Wanda Maximoff. Are you perhaps now cooking for three?"

"There's no truth to the pregnancy rumours," Thaddeus says immediately, and Vision just nods alongside him. "If Ms. Maximoff ever does become pregnant, rest assured that Victor's fans will know as soon as he is comfortable sharing that. But what I've been alluding to the past few weeks is a far more exciting step in Victor's career than having a child." He leans forwards, eyes gleaming, and says, "We have finalised an order for a very special series of the show. Victor will be travelling around Europe filming in beautiful locations and teaching his audience about the local cuisine. It is an incredible opportunity and I could not be more excited to see it go ahead."

It takes a moment for the words to fully sink in. There's an uproar of cheering in the studio, but it rings like white noise in Wanda's ears. Vision is answering a question, his gaze darting around the room, and she is trying to make sense of what's happening. What Ross is saying can't be true, because Vision couldn't just leave without talking to her. He'd tell her. They don't keep secrets. She told him about her tragic childhood on the first date, he'd tell her if he was considering something this big. Being away from the city, the state, the  _country_. Presumably for a long time. He can't really have finalised it all without talking to her. He wouldn't do that.

The interview ends, and her ears are ringing. She feels detached from reality all of a sudden, watching the host vigorously shake first Ross and then Vision's hands. Her boyfriend turning away from the set and walking back into the green room, and giving her a shaky smile. "How was that?" he asks, and she just blinks at him. "Wanda? Darling, are you alright?"

" _Europe_?" she asks, and her voice comes out thick and tremulous, like she's about to start crying. She will not break, not in front of all these people. "It's a joke, right? Something being thrown about as an idea. You'd tell me if you were signing something to confirm it, right?"

"Wanda..." He trails away, swallowing thickly, his eyes shadowed with sadness, and she takes a step away from him, staring at him. It's real, and the truth of that washes icily over her. He's known for a while, and he didn't tell her. "I didn't know Thaddeus was going to announce it today. I wanted to talk to you first, of course I did."

"When are you supposed to leave?" she asks, and his gaze darts guiltily. " _When_ , Vision?!"

"We shouldn't talk about this here," he says, and takes her hand to guide her out of the room. Into the corridor, where it's quiet and the lights are brighter, and she can see the way his throat works before he speaks again. "I'm supposed to fly out at the end of the month."

"How long will you be gone?" she asks, folding her arms defensively across her chest.

He looks utterly defeated, miserable as he quietly answers, "Six months. Maybe seven."

"Vision, that...we've only been together five months, and now you're going to be gone for at least six?" she asks, and he just nods, and she presses a hand to her mouth for a moment to push back the sob that claws its way up her throat, desperate to escape. "And when were you planning on telling me?"

"I wanted to," he says, a plea in his eyes, his hands held out in desperate surrender. "I never wanted to keep it a secret, but Thaddeus insisted I didn't tell you until everything was signed."

"And you didn't think to ignore your manager and tell your  _girlfriend_  that you would be leaving the country for  _six months_?" she asks, feeling the lump in her throat growing harder, making it hard to speak.

"Wanda,  _please_ ," he whispers, and takes her hands, and she looks up into his eyes, gleaming with unshed tears, and feels her own spill over, sliding hot down her cheeks. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know he was going to do that. Please believe me, I wanted to tell you from the start. Maybe...maybe you could come with me?"

"What about my job?" she asks. "What about my degree, Vision? I can't afford to just drop everything and follow you around for six months. I have a  _life_  here!"

"You're right, you're right, that's a stupid idea," he says, and ducks his head, dropping her hands. "I'm so sorry, Wanda, I'm  _sorry_. I...I didn't want to tell you. I thought...I thought you'd end it right there. I don't want to lose you but my...my career is important to me."

"Vision, I..." She stares up at him, swiping a hand across her eyes to blot away the tears, wondering if she should just end it. Right here, right now. Break up with him and let him swan off to Europe to make the series of his dreams. He's right. It's important. An incredible opportunity. What right does she have to stand in his way? Except for...except for the fact that she is his girlfriend. That she loves him. More than she's loved anyone before. They talked about a future, marriage, maybe children, and yet he kept something so big from her. "I have to think about this."

She turns away from him, desperately blinking back the hot prickle of more tears, and his footsteps are behind her, hesitant, and there's a note of desperation in his voice when he calls out, "Wait, Wanda...Wanda,  _please_ , don't just leave! Please, stay, we can talk about this! I'll get rid of everyone else, let's go for dinner, just you and me."

"I...just can't be around you tonight," she says, and hears him stop entirely. "I'll call you when I'm done thinking."

A long moment of silence, and then he says, "Okay." And she can hear the tears in his voice, knows that if she turns around she'll see him openly crying, and forces herself to keep walking. But she doesn't put enough distance between them to avoid hearing him quietly say, "I love you, Wanda. More than anything."

The door swings shut behind her, the cold night air greeting her, and she breaks. Clasping a hand to her mouth to muffle her sobs, starting to walk just to get away from anyone who might catch Victor Shade's girlfriend crying alone outside the studio where he's been filming a live appearance. Taking the back alleys to avoid any lurking paparazzi, wrapping her arms around herself, tears streaming silvery down her cheeks. Betrayal ringing in her chest, unable to stop thinking about Vision leaving her. And for so long, when anything could happen, when he could meet someone out in Europe and decide he doesn't want her anymore. When she'd spend every minute of every day missing him, unable to just pick up the phone and ask him to come over, having to see him only through grainy Skype connections at the best of times. Their relationship is still so new, and he's about to leave her.

She can't handle losing him, but she can't imagine she'll be any good at a long distance relationship. Missing him would be a constant, distracting ache, she'd never be able to think about anything else, and she would never be able to pay to fly out and see him. And  _God_ , if they even made it that far he could still be gone when their anniversary comes around. She'd be missing him and they wouldn't get to make memories, they'd be so many miles apart. She doesn't have the right to stop him from taking the opportunity, but in her heart of hearts she doesn't want him to leave.

He just should've  _told_ her. Explained. Then she wouldn't be walking home all alone, crying silently in the cold night air. He'd be with her, and they'd be enjoying the last few weeks they have together, and she could wave him away knowing that they're strong enough to make it. But if he won't even be honest with her about  _this_ , she doesn't know if they are.

That's the last thought in her head before she hears the frantic screech of brakes seconds before something slams into her side and she's thrown into the air. Hears a horrified shout and feels the explosion of pain when her head slams into the ground. Then the world turns black.

* * *

She opens her eyes and almost immediately closes them against the burn of bright white light. Her chest aches and the room is too hot and there's suddenly a hand on her arm, fingers pressing against her wrist. "Just breathe," comes the quiet order, and Wanda blinks and sees Natasha sitting next to her. Worry furrowing her brow, and when she shifts she realises why the light is so bright, why there's a dull ache in her chest. "Do you remember what happened?"

"I think I...I got hit by a car," she says, and Natasha nods. "How long have I been here? How did I get here? How did  _you_  get here?"

"So many questions," Natasha says, slightly teasing, but there's too much concern in her eyes for it to really be reassuring. "I'm still your emergency contact. Someone who saw you get hit drove you here, I ran into her and thanked her profusely. A drunk driver drove into you pretty hard, sent you flying. He got arrested, someone who saw called the police. You've only been here overnight, not long at all. They've been bringing me shitty vending machine coffee every hour, I didn't want to leave you."

"Am I hurt?" she asks, and winces when she tries to move and the dull ache in her chest explodes into a sharp needle of pain. "Sorry. Dumb question."

"You got hit by a  _car_ , you can be forgiven for dumb questions," Natasha says, and reaches over to squeeze Wanda's hand. "You've got three bruised ribs, whiplash, cuts and bruises on your legs, your knee is banged up pretty bad, and your wrist is sprained. Nothing too serious, thank God. It could've been so much worse."

"Did you call anyone?" Wanda asks, wincing as she straightens up against the pillows propping her up, and Natasha reaches behind her to fuss with them.

"Jane was home when I got the call, and Thor came over to be with her while I was gone, she was pretty scared," Natasha says, reeling the information off so easily. "I called Sam while they were monitoring you for internal bleeding, had a bit of a cry down the phone to him. And I called Nebula once they said you'd be fine once you woke up, thought she should tell Mantis rather than me."

"Nat..." She breathes in, too sharply, sending an jolt of pain through her wrist, thinking about the last hour before everything goes black. The tears in Vision's eyes, the desperate way he held her hands, the plea that rang through his voice. "Did you call Vision?"

The door swings open and Natasha rolls her eyes and says, "Right on cue," and Wanda tries to straighten herself up better, running a suddenly self-conscious hand through her hair, trying to smooth the ugly hospital gown down.

And Vision rushes in dressed in the same suit as the last time she saw him, looking like he hasn't slept a single minute the entire night, eyes rimmed with red and a thin layer of stubble on his cheeks, darting straight to her bedside and brushing a kiss to the top of her head, rambling out, "They wouldn't let me in until visiting hours, I'm so sorry, I wanted to be here, are you alright, are you hurt, do you need anything, can I help-"

"I'll leave you two alone," Natasha says, and slips out of the room, leaving Wanda looking up at Vision. Watching a tear escape the corner of his eye and slick a silvery trail down his cheek, wondering what she's supposed to say.

"I can't leave you," he says softly, and presses his lips to her forehead, running a hand through her hair, his eyes on hers. "I love you so much, when Natasha called, I...I was so scared you were badly hurt, and the last thing we ever did was argue, I...I'm  _so_  sorry. I can't leave you, not even for a week, I can't go for six months, I couldn't sleep, all I could think about was that maybe you were in a hospital bed,  _dying_ , and I wasn't there. I can't go, what if something like this happened while I was gone, I wouldn't know what to do, I-"

"Vizh," she says, silencing him, and reaches to twine their fingers together. "What are you saying?"

"I can't go to Europe," he says, and one tiny part of her heart soars. Satisfied that he  _does_  love her, enough to make that sacrifice for her, that he looks so earnest and sincere when he says it. "I can't leave you. I would never stop thinking...what if you were hurt, or you were sad, or  _anything_ , and I wasn't there? Even if you just...fell down the stairs, I'd worry. I can't be that far away from you."

And despite the part of her that is doing a victory dance, Wanda bites her lip and reaches up to cup his cheek, making sure he meets her eyes before she says, "You have to go. It's too big an opportunity to pass up just for me."

"But...but  _Wanda_ , I...I want to stay with you," he says, and she just shakes her head slightly. "But I'll worry about you too much. I don't think it would be  _good_  for me to leave you for so long."

"And I'll worry about you," she says, very gently running her fingertips down his cheek, feeling the scrape of stubble. "But you're my boyfriend. I love you, and I want what's best for you and your career. You want to go out there and do this series, so you should. I will be here when you get back, I promise."

"But what if you're not?" He asks it so quietly she's not sure if he meant her to hear, but he looks up with tears in his eyes, and she just wants to hold him, reassure him. "What if we break up?"

"Only if it really is what's best for both of us," she says, and turns his face back to hers when he tries to move away. "And it's not what's best for me. I love you, Vision. When we talked about the future, I meant it when I said I want you in mine. And I'm thinking a lot further than the next six months."

"I love you too," he says, and she smiles and pulls him in for a gentle kiss, tipping their foreheads together and feeling him shudder with a suppressed sob. "I'll miss you so much."

"Once the semester is over, I'll be able to come visit you," she says, tracing her fingers around the curve of his ear, smiling into his eyes. "As long as you pay for my ticket, I'll come to any place you want. I've always wanted to travel around Europe."

"But...but you were angry," he says, and she shakes her head.

"Never angry," she promises. "I was upset. Disappointed you didn't tell me. But, Vizh...I'm so  _proud_  of you. I want your dreams to come true."

"One of my dreams is you," he says, and he's so sweet and earnest that she kisses him, cupping a hand to the back of his head, letting his hand cup her waist over the papery hospital gown.

"And I  _promise_  I'll be here when you come home," she says when he pulls back with a faint gasp for breath. "I'll only be a phone call away if you need me. And I'll come visit you in the summer and remind you why a few months away from me might make us stronger." He laughs, though it's constricted with unshed tears, and leans in to kiss her again.

* * *

"Mr. Shade, your girlfriend is here, should I tell her to wait?" Darcy's voice sounds through Vision's earpiece, almost immediately followed by, "Never mind, she just walked straight past me. Incoming."

He looks up just in time for Wanda to burst into the studio, ignoring the horrified look she's getting, and when their eyes meet his concentration completely breaks. Everything falls away except for her, and he almost runs to meet her, to wrap her in his arms and remember the way she smells, the warmth of her skin, the weight of her head pressed into the crook of his neck. "I missed you," he breathes against her hair, and she lifts her head to look up into his eyes, the green so startlingly bright with joy.

"I missed you too," she whispers, and pulls him down to kiss him, her arms around his neck. Their first kiss since the early morning in the airport, lingering close until he had to leave, and he forgets that there are people around them, kissing her with everything he has. Her leg is hooked around his, and somehow then tangled around his waist and he's lifted her into his arms, clutching her tightly, and her tongue is tracing over his lower lip and they only break apart when someone wolf whistles.

"Mr. Shade, we do still have shots to get," the director says politely, though she's smirking between Vision and Wanda, who doesn't even look embarrassed about the number of people staring at them. "The sooner we get this done, the sooner you can continue...ah,  _reuniting_  with your lovely girlfriend."

"I am lovely," Wanda says, and grins, giving Vision one last gentle kiss before she untangles herself from him and drops to the floor, still smiling up at him.

"This won't take long," he promises, bringing her hands to his mouth to softly kiss her fingertips. "Are you okay waiting?"

"I've waited for months, babe, I can wait a little longer," she says, and a smirk curls the corners of her mouths as she softly adds, "As long as I get to see  _all_  of you tonight."

He blushes, and doesn't answer, instead going back onto the set, taking a deep breath to try and compose himself. "Uh, Mr. Shade...your face is covered in lipstick," someone says, and he blushes and tries to wipe it away, Wanda giving him a sunny smile.

Thankfully, despite him stumbling over his words as soon as the cameras turn on, they get the shot finished quickly, and as everyone is packing away he can go back to Wanda, kissing her softly. "Just let me get my coat, and I'm all yours," he promises, and she smiles.

"You know someone in the train station asked me for an autograph?" she asks, and he smiles fondly. "Even in  _Edinburgh_ , people recognise me as your girlfriend."

"Because they know I'm the luckiest man in the world," he says, and she rolls her eyes fondly.

"Charmer," she says, and he kisses her one more time, savouring the warmth of her lips on his, before he goes to his dressing room for his coat. Carefully drawing the tiny, velvet-covered red box out of his pocket and opening it, taking a moment alone to stare at the ring, the tiny diamond gleaming in the soft light. Then snapping it closed and sliding it back into his pocket, the weight of it a comfort, a reminder of what he's planned.

"I booked dinner," he says when he returns to Wanda's side, and she slides her fingers between his easily. "We can walk, it's such a lovely night."

"Any plans for after dinner?" she asks, and for a moment the box burns red-hot in his pocket, and he considers just dropping to one knee right here and having her answer before anything else.

But instead he just smiles, kisses her temple and says, "I thought we could just see where the night takes us."


End file.
